Chapter 10: Still

Noon burned through the panes, flooding the shop with gold too fierce to bear. Light caught on dust-dulled glass and brass, casting heat into every crevice. Some clocks ticked with stubborn persistence; others stood mute in the thick hush of oil and sweat.

He leaned shirtless against the counter, skin damp and gleaming. A vest lay folded on the stool beside him, its patches dark with age, relics of cooler hours lost to the day’s glare.

Across the room, Lira sat sketching him.

Her pencil moved in steady rhythm, tracing his shoulders in graphite. Her blouse hung open past her throat, loose against the heat. Her dress clung to her hips, smudged with charcoal from morning work. Her hair hung free, damp strands stuck to her neck. Above her, the antique clock rested—smoke-stained, still. Its gears bore last night’s ruin. The key sat cold and scratched on the counter. A relic. A line they’d crossed.

She looked up.

Pencil paused.

Her eyes traced him, sparking through the silence.

He wiped his brow. His fingers slick with sweat. The clock’s silence lifted something heavy from his chest—a weight he hadn’t known was his until it was gone.

She set the pencil down. Rose. Her boots scuffed faintly across the boards.

“Caught you this time,” she said.

Her voice low. Teasing.

She crossed to him, her blouse slipping to bare her collarbone. Noon light touched her skin.

“No more turns,” he said.

His voice dropped with the words—part relief, part regret.

She nodded. Her gaze didn’t waver. Fire flickered beneath her calm.

“Just us,” she said.

Her hands found his waist. Fingers brushed the waistband of his trousers. A spark.